


Five adventures of Richie Vanderlow (and one he could live without)

by berry



Category: A Life Less Ordinary (1997)
Genre: F/M, a man who talks like a dog, plots that are...kind of obvious, the grand yuletide tradition of five things fic, unnecessary and potentially incomprehensible references to other ewan mcgregor films
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 17:20:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berry/pseuds/berry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The unlikely arrival of a multi-platinum pop star and his sweet, innocent new wife in a remote northern Californian outpost. Apparently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five adventures of Richie Vanderlow (and one he could live without)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [norabombay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/norabombay/gifts).



> Happy yuletide, norabombay!
> 
> Thanks to t and s for inspiration and swift-like-the-wind beta services.

**#1: Exposition**  
He'd always suspected he had hidden talents. Showdancing may not have been top of his list of suspicions, but whatever, he would take it. Put it this way: he'd never heard of a Broadway star being replaced by a robot.

"Your adoring public," Celine murmured against his ear after they took their bows. With one arm around her waist, he could feel her catching her breath. 

"That's very kind of you, Celine, but they're your public as much as mine. I didn't know you could dance."

"Vegas," she said with a shrug. "But it's not my dancing they're cheering for, _Richie_." 

"Oh no," Robert said, feeling abruptly ill. Tod and Felix (Robert assumed from the collar) were making their way rapidly towards the stage. Tod had – there was no other way to put it – stars in his eyes. "We need to get out of here," Robert said, grabbing her hand. Celine didn't move an inch.

"But we can't leave now," she said, eyes wide. "The adventures of Richie Vanderlow have only just started. I'm _so_ curious to see how they turn out." 

"I don't – I can't – _Celine_."

"Come on, Robert," she said, smoothing out his collar. "I know you've got this. I mean, a lot of people _say_ they're writing a novel, but you're different. Right?" 

Fuck. Why could he never keep his stupid mouth shut?

 

 **#2: Rising action**  
"I have to apologise if I embarrassed you, Mr and Mrs Vanderlow," Tod mumbled once they were installed in a booth near the back of the bar. He seemed unable to take his eyes from Celine's fingers, rubbing around and around the rim of her glass. Robert could empathise. 

"It's really no problem, Mr Johnson," Robert assured him. Celine had her other hand on his thigh.

"You have to understand, sir. We don't get many newlyweds round these parts, let alone any celebrities."

"Of course."

"It must be real exciting, being such a big star and all."

"Oh, it's not – "

"Oh, it's wonderful, Mr Johnson," Celine said over him. "It's hard to explain, honestly, but Richie can tell you. Tell him about Paris, darling." 

"Paris," Robert croaked, and Celine nodded enthusiastically.

"The city of _l'amour_ ," Tod said wistfully.

"Woof," said Felix.

"Is that where you two lovebirds met?"

"Yes, in fact." Robert stammered. "We met at – at the Eiffel Tower. I was playing a show. From the top of the Eiffel Tower. And then we – we met afterwards. Drinking some champagne. In the - the Moulin Rouge?" he attempted, wondering if he should throw in some detail about wearing a striped t-shirt and riding a bicycle, but Tod's expression had turned stony. 

"I've heard about those places sir, on the biblical channels. Places where women dance _licentiously_. It is sinful, Mr Vanderlow," Tod said, oddly still looking at Celine. His cheeks seemed very pink. 

"Oh no, Mr Johnson, it wasn't like that at all," Celine said demurely. "My father introduced us."

"Oh," Tod mumbled, seeming strangely disappointed. 

"After that, Richie just stole me away," she said, leaning her head briefly against his shoulder. Robert swallowed, wishing for various reasons that he actually still had that gun in his pocket.

 

 **#3: Climax**  
"Of course, it took some time afterwards, to hunt down the responsible individuals and make sure they ended up behind bars where they belonged. But once the gold had been located under the embassy, it was really an open and shut case," Robert finished with a flourish, before knocking back another shot of tequila. He was really starting to enjoy himself.

"That is an incredible story, sir," Tod said solemnly, beer untouched before him on the table.

"Woof," said Felix.

"All in a day's work," Robert answered, leaning back in the booth and putting an arm around Celine. Fuck, she smelled good, of some perfume you were probably allowed to buy only with a multi-platinum credit card.

"And is that – do you mind me asking you a question, Richie?"

"Ask away, Tod," Robert said, convinced that Richie would always be this generous to his fans.

"Is that when you realised you were the secret lovechild of Marilyn Monroe and John F Kennedy? The reason why she was killed?"

"Jesus Christ!" Robert got to his feet. "How could you _possibly_ know that?"

Tod looked nervously at Celine before answering. "With the greatest respect…it's kind of obvious, Richie," he said. 

"Woof," agreed Felix.

Robert sat back down and Celine took his hand supportively. "You won't tell the newspapers, will you?" she whispered to Tod and Felix. 

"Not a word," Tod whispered back. 

This was ridiculous. 

 

 **#4: Falling action**  
A few more songs and a flurry of autographs later, the place had emptied out. The couple who owned the place were putting chairs on tables and mopping the floor, all the while making clear that they'd be happy to keep serving the Vanderlows and their friends for as long as they wanted. It was gratifying, and Robert hadn't paid for a drink since they first took the stage, but between the kidnap and the alcohol and the new-found stardom, he was kind of exhausted. 

"To be honest with you Tod, I'm tired," he found himself saying when Celine was at the rest room. "Not just tonight. This lifestyle is a lot to handle, especially now that I have Lucille to worry about." 

"I understand, sir. I have a similar experience with Felix. He is a wonderful companion, and all men deserve to have a warm bed on a cold winter night. But it sure is a responsibility."

"Woof," said Felix sadly.

"It would be nice if, just for a while, life could be calmer you know? More ordinary."

"Oh honey," Celine said, slipping back into the booth beside him. He groaned inwardly. "What are you wishing for?"

"Just a bit of peace and quiet, Lucille."

"You mean, say, holding down a regular, menial job in some faceless corporation, struggling to make rent, chasing a dream to, I don't know, write a novel. Losing your girlfriend to an aerobics instructor. That sort of thing?"

Robert shrugged.

"I can imagine you living a life like that." She leaned into him until her lips were almost touching his ear. "You would be terrible at it. Darling." She sat back and primly took a sip of her drink. Robert stared into his own glass. 

"Yes. I know."

"And we're all very grateful that you're not, Richie," Tod said with a shy smile.

"Woof," said Felix.

"I'll drink to that," Celine said, and drained her glass. "Take me home, Richie."

A smile spread across his face. Maybe he could handle the fame for just a little longer. 

 

 **#5: Resolution**  
Back at the hut, Celine let her clothes fall at her feet. "I guess Richie Vanderlow always gets the girl, huh?"

God bless Richie Vanderlow, Robert thought, as he slid his arms around Celine. Finally, a story with a happy ending. Tomorrow he would start working on his novel again – this would be the one that made him millions, he was sure of it. 

"Stop thinking, Richie."

"No problem, Lucille," he said, and blew out the candle.

 **#6: Denouement**  
For five full minutes, he'd heard nothing other than the _pink pink_ of the engine cooling and the ceaseless chirping of crickets. Richie wiped the condensation from the windshield with the sleeve of his shirt and sighed. "Private" was apparently synonymous with "no hot water" in the mind of his travel agent, although the truth was that he would accept much worse for a break from the paparazzi. Lucky he was such a rugged, outdoorsy type.

"It's empty, Richie," Lucille said with a breathy sigh. He could imagine her moue of displeasure, although he didn't know what she was so upset about. They'd been three days without washing at some acid nightmare of a festival in the Californian desert that summer and she'd still looked like she'd stepped straight from a Chanel advert. 

"Right. Let's make a move."

Inside, the place was more or less on the right side of the line dividing rustic from derelict. No sign of photographers, no reporters hanging around. He was beginning to relax when a sudden loud _pop_ caused him to shout in an aggressive, manly fashion.

"Don't squeal. It's just the cork," Lucille said, gesturing with the champagne bottle, but by that point he had fallen halfway into the gap left by the loose floorboard. 

It was more of a space underneath the hut than a cellar as such. There was no floor other than earth, and the walls were the stone the hut was constructed from. Overall there was nothing to attract the roving eye of a visiting megastar other than the disturbance caused in the inches of dust by footprints leading to a black suitcase in one dark corner. "There's something down here," he called. 

"Alive or dead?" Lucille shouted back, sounding indifferent to the answer.

"No – neither," he said, moving slowly towards it, stepping into the footprints of whoever had been here before. The light diminished the closer he got. "It's a briefcase, I think?" He moved gingerly until he was close enough to see it was slightly ajar. He nudged it with his foot, less gently than intended, meaning two things happened at once. The briefcase opened, revealing what seemed to be hundreds of thousands – maybe millions – of dollars in neat bundles of notes. The briefcase also moved back, into the decidedly dead body of what had been a slightly overweight, middle-aged man. 

"Jesus. Christ."

"What did you find, sweetheart?" Lucille asked from somewhere behind him. His mind raced through the options. Millions of dollars, a dead man hidden in the remote countryside, the place undisturbed for what seemed like weeks, months even – who would ever know? Smash his teeth out, bury him in the woods somewhere. Easiest money they'd ever make. Lucille would love it. He was on the verge of calling out, when Lucille scampered across the floorboards above him. "What are you looking for?"

A chill went through him, like someone had walked over his grave. "It's nothing dear," he said, backing away slowly. "Why don't we go to bed, yeah?"

"Sure," she purred, as he hauled himself back up into the hut, replacing the floorboard carefully in its place. 

Some adventures even Richie Vanderlow could live without.


End file.
